


Against the Wall

by Carmenlire



Series: Tumblr Prompts [10]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Clubbing, Established Relationship, Fluff, Immortal Husbands, M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 08:34:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15409089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmenlire/pseuds/Carmenlire
Summary: St. Vincent’s attention catches on the one spot of stillness in Pandemonium-- there’s a man, no ashadowhunter, staring at Magnus with single-minded focus. He’s leaning against the bar, untouched drink in hand, and it looks like he doesn’t even register anything going on around him.He only has eyes for Bane.Or, Magnus's friends have the best of intentions, even if they are a little out of the loop.





	Against the Wall

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr prompt by @wirtanzenimregen: Someone who hasn't seen Magnus in decades spots him with a shadowhunter and tries to protect him when said shadowhunter gets a little handsy.

Never let it be said that Magnus Bane’s standards weren’t up to snuff.

Bartholomew St. Vincent, the High Warlock of Manchester, takes a long look around Pandemonium. It’s been ages since he last set foot in the downworlder club-- not since its opening night in fact, over twenty years ago.

Ah, how time slips away when one’s immortal.

While Manchester wasn’t the hive of activity that London or New York was known to be, he still kept himself busy. The quiet afforded him time to attend to his plants and write his memoirs-- a task that he’s been working on for the past thirty six years, off and on.

But, alas, Magnus had wanted to meet with him-- something about making sure his beloved petunias didn’t strangle him in his sleep-- so, here he was, across the pond for the week while Magnus caught him up on all the gossip that he’s missed since he last left his city.

He’d just portaled over a few hours ago, directly into his suite at the Ritz-Carlton. He’d enjoyed a leisurely dinner at one of his favorite French bistros before deciding to stop by Pandemonium on his way back to his hotel.

While clubbing wasn’t really his scene, he couldn’t deny that Bane was an excellent businessman. While there was an extended dancefloor and lovely ebony granite bar, Magnus had planned for patrons whose grand idea of a fun night wasn’t gyrating against strangers.

There was a cigar room in the back that mostly catered to fellow immortals, Magnus offering dozens of different types of tobacco with the complementary liquor.

St. Vincent spends a pleasant hour or two unwinding in the room, enjoying a few glasses of port and tipping the cigar girl lavishly.

Eventually, though, he stands up, making his way to the door. The room attendant jumps in to smoothly open the door for him and he’s immediately assaulted with a wall of bass-thumping dance music.

He grimaces in distaste-- what ever happened to the swing era?-- and carefully makes his way to the cloakroom, trying to touch as few people as possible.

As he reaches it, he turns and just takes in the scene for a minute. There’s a line of people waiting to get in and people are packed in like sardines. There’s a crowd at the bar, four deep and the bartenders are working their asses off.

Magnus is in the middle of it all, dancing to something god-awful, everyone trying to get near him-- he’s the life of the party even when he’s not trying. A talent, that.

He’s in something revealing, his shirt completely unbuttoned but tucked into skin tight leather trousers. His makeup is as dramatic as his moods and he’s grinning, feral and satisfied.

He looks like a king amidst his people.

St. Vincent’s attention catches on the one spot of stillness in Pandemonium-- there’s a man, no a _shadowhunter_ , staring at Magnus with single-minded focus. He’s leaning against the bar, untouched drink in hand, and it looks like he doesn’t even register anything going on around him. 

He only has eyes for Bane.

St. Vincent watches as the shadowhunter gives Bane a slow onceover, pausing at the necklaces catching the light on his chest.

He raises a brow, chuckling a little. _So it’s like that then, is it_ , he thinks. He didn’t know the blessed nephilim were allowed to swing that way.

Deciding the shadowhunter isn’t a threat-- though not to say that he isn’t wasting his time, as if Bane would ever deign to sleep with one of those sanctimonious, rigid creatures-- St. Vincent lets his gaze keep moving.

Magnus has quite the little enterprise here, boasting style and elegance with the touch of debauchery he’s so notorious for, and St. Vincent is proud of him. They only had a passing acquaintance through Ragnor but trust Magnus to keep in touch-- to keep him from becoming too much of a recluse.

As he shrugs into his coat and puts his hat on, he sees Magnus leaving through the front doors, the bouncer holding the rope open so he can pass.

St. Vincent’s gaze sharpens, though, as he sees the shadowhunter follow close behind.

Good grief.

Shadowhunters just don’t know when to stop, when to admit defeat. 

Grumbling, he starts moving, walking at a brisk pace towards the front of the club. Lilith knew that Magnus always protected his people-- it was only fair that St. Vincent be there in his hour of need.

He exits the club and immediately takes a deep breath of the fresh, cool air. Up the block he sees Magnus walking, the shadowhunter-- good God, how tall was the man?-- silently following.

St. Vincent has a moment to think how peculiar it is that Magnus hasn’t caught on-- he was one of the most powerful warlocks the world over and his sixth sense should definitely be tingling right now-- but he pushes that to the back of his mind to discuss with him later.

The shadowhunter is a few paces behind, a looming shadow on a deserted block. He looks lethal, capable of their kind’s usual violence, and Bartholomew is set to call out a warning when the shadowhunter makes his move.

He must have one of his runes activated because he’s a blur of movement as he closes the distance to Magnus. 

Bartholomew starts jogging to the two men but he stops in his tracks as he hears. . . _laughter?_

The shadowhunter’s wrapped an arm around Bane’s waist, spinning him, pushing him back until he collides with the brick wall. 

Bane, for his part, doesn’t look alarmed. Instead of seeing crushing waves of crimson, St. Vincent watches, stunned, as he winds his arms around the shadowhunter’s neck, relaxing against the wall, pulling the other man closer.

Magnus laughs, a little breathless, as Alec settles against him. “Someone can’t wait until we get home?”

The man hums as he starts mouthing at Magnus’s neck, sucking a bruise over his pulse point. Magnus’s hips buck, heading falling back, granting easier access.

St. Vincent is speechless at the intimate display. Magnus Bane, renowned for his reluctant tolerance of shadowhunters, voluntarily letting one so close?

It’s absurd.

The shadowhunter pulls back and St. Vincent barely catches the words that leave him in a hoarse baritone.

“Well, husband, what do you expect me to do when you were dancing like that?”

“Like what, Alexander,” Magnus demands, playfully outraged.

“Like you knew I was watching,” is his growled reply and St. Vincent is taken aback as they both dive into each other, kissing with a fervor _infinitely_ more suited to a bedroom than directly under a streetlight.

Magnus sweeps his hands from the shadowhunter's shoulders down to his ass, copping a feel with one as the other slides into his jeans. Magnus then proceeds to hitch a thigh over his lover's hip and they start grinding in earnest.

For pity’s sake, it’s distasteful. Magnus is letting out these little whimpers and the two of them are putting on quite the display.

Wait. What in blazes?

Husband?

In his shock, he must make a noise because the two break apart, Alexander going for his pocket and Magnus’s eyes gleaming gold in the darkness.

The next second, he lays a hand on the shadowhunter’s chest as he takes in the onlooker.

“Bartholomew?”

St. Vincent sighs and takes a few steps closer.

“It is I,” he agrees.

Magnus looks confused and so does Alexander, staring between the two high warlocks in surprise.

“You know each other,” he asks warily.

Magnus nods before he gets a chance to.

“We’re old pals, darling. St. Vincent is actually in town for the week to catch up.”

The shadowhunter relaxes as he hears the name.

He steps back from Magnus and clears his throat, sticking out a hand.

“Good to meet you, St. Vincent. I’m Alec Lightwood.”

St. Vincent throws a startled glance at Magnus before slowly returning the handshake.

“Lightwood? Of _the_ Lightwoods?”

Alec nods even as he looks rueful. “Yeah, but try not to hold it against me.”

Magnus takes a step closer to him, wrapping an arm around his back. “Alexander, here, is the Head of the New York Institute.” He winks at St. Vincent. “He’s also my husband.”

He knows his mouth is opening and closing like a fish, but he can’t help being so gauche.

“Husband?”

Magnus just arches a brow, blasé. “Husband. We’ve been married for seven years.”

“To a _shadowhunter?_ ”

Magnus laughs, nodding even as he winces. “I know, St. Vincent. If you’d asked me the last time we’d seen each other if I thought I’d ever get married, let alone to a shadowhunter, I would have laughed in your face. But, here I am.” He looks up at Alec, wonder in his gaze as he continues. "I definitely never saw this one coming my way."

He tilts his head a little, switching to give St. Vincent a considering look. “You spend too much time at your estate, dear. I can’t believe you haven’t heard a single word about me and Alexander. We’re a constant source of gossip among the downworld.”

Alec chuckles. “And it’s definitely not limited to New York.”

Magnus turns to look up at him and St. Vincent can’t help but notice the look that passes between them, full of warmth and humor, obvious even to a stranger.

“How right you are, darling. Remember when that pair of wolves watched us the entire evening in that tapas in Madrid? You’re really too captivating, Alexander.”

Alexander scoffs. “Me? No one would give me a second look if it weren’t for you, babe. You command attention wherever you go, especially when you dress to impress.” Alec’s gaze dips down lecherously and Magnus chuckles, patting his chest.

He looks at Bartholomew, winking. “I think someone’s had a little too much to drink tonight.”

Magnus nods at him, tilting his head in Alexander’s direction. “We’d best head home now, but I look forward to lunch tomorrow. I assume you’re staying at the Ritz?”

St. Vincent nods, watches as Bane’s husband leans down and starts nosing along his hairline. “Of course, Bane, there’s not another acceptable hotel in the whole damned city. I’ll meet you at the restaurant tomorrow.”

Magnus nods distractedly as he reaches up and runs a hand through the shadowhunter’s hair.

“Have a safe walk back to the hotel, Bartholomew.”

He nods as Magnus turns Alec and they start walking back down the block. The two are in step, Alexander’s arm across Bane’s shoulder, hips touching.

They look like a team, in sync.

He hears their voices, growing quiet in the distance, and shakes his head, rueful.

Trust Bane to defy everyone’s expectations.

He can’t wait to catch up on what he's missed tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me on tumblr @carmenlire! I'm always accepting prompts :)


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